


The Cake is a Lie

by EnterWittyNameHere



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: 1920s, Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Author tries her hand at romantic Alastor, Bad Puns, Birthday Sex, But he's trying, Cunnilingus, Demisexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Ehhhh...squint and its there, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Gift Fic, Gift Work, Slice of Life, Smut, Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Touch-Averse Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, not canon at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28823628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnterWittyNameHere/pseuds/EnterWittyNameHere
Summary: Just a little slice of life look at some birthday shenanigans with everyone's favourite radio host.Yes that's a horrible cake pun, come inside we have more!
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) & Reader, Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62





	The Cake is a Lie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NotBrooke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotBrooke/gifts).



> Hello my lovely sinners! This was just a little gift fic for my beloved NotBrooke, but with some editing and her consent, we decided to post it here for everyone to enjoy! 
> 
> Please note the tags and that, yes, Alastor will be wildly out of character in this.   
> This is completely stand alone and not at all connected in any way to Cradles or my Canary series.   
> This is just for fun because let's face it, we're all thirsty here.

You woke slowly and leisurely, the popping of your joints soft as you stretched your form under the piled-up quilt. Louisiana didn't exactly get cold in the winter, but there was something about being curled up next to a warm body, heartbeat in your ear, while cozy under the heavier blanket that made you happy to have one. 

Although, speaking of that particular warm body - your hand stretched out expecting to meet the lean form of a certain radio host, only to be met by the cool, smooth sheets on his side. With a huff, you pulled the blanket down over your head; it was then that the soft, warbly notes of some jazz song reached your ears from down the hall, the clinking of dishes sounding out in a way that eased some of the irritation in your chest. 

The smell of bacon cooking hit you like a train, making your stomach growl and lurch. Resigning yourself to having to leave the comfort of your nest of bedding, you rolled yourself out of bed and grabbed your housecoat to throw over your nightgown, deciding to forgo dressing as a compromise to indulging your laziness at the moment. Minus a brief stop to freshen up and splash water across your still sleepy features, you padded down the familiar hallway within a short amount of time. 

Between the din of the sounds of cooking and the radio crooning along, you were able to enter the small, dainty kitchen silently. You stopped in the doorway, unable to help yourself from pausing and taking in the scene that greeted you; even though you had known Alastor for a few years now (although you had been warming his bed for a shorter period), you weren't sure if the sudden flutter of butterflies in your tummy or the burst of warmth in your chest would ever cease to occur when you looked at him. 

Alastor had his back turned to you, oblivious it seemed to your presence behind him. He was bent over the small stove, a pile of various pans and pots rather haphazardly about the space (your eyes flickered to the sink where another mountain of dishes sat). His normally well-maintained hair was ungelled for once, or at the very least the humidity off of the stove had caused some of his dark curls to fall across his forehead, and you thought you caught a glimpse of some mysterious, darker brown stain colouring his crisp shirt. Despite the focused look on his face, you could see the small muscle movement under his clothing that confirmed the lanky fool was in fact dancing slightly to the music still floating to you from the living room. 

You finally moved away from leaning against the doorframe to sneak a bit closer, your curiosity at what had his normally so-sharp focus so wrapped up. From your new angle in the room, you could see Alastor’s tongue peeking between his front teeth (a common sign of his frustration, although he would never admit to being so easy to read) as he held a mixing bowl in his hands. He was whipping rather agitatedly at something, something that was giving off a buttery yet sugary scent - 

“Is that a cake?” you blurted before you could help yourself; the shock of seeing something sweet and chocolatey around a man who thrived off of savoury food caught you off guard more than you thought it would. 

To be fair, you weren’t the only one caught off guard. 

Looking for all the world like a cat that had just been electrocuted, all of Alastor’s lithe frame seemed to lift off the ground as he spun to face you; his dark eyes were wide behind the polished frames of his glasses for a mere moment before he seemed to settle his gaze on you properly. Immediately, his all too familiar (and all too charming) smile broke out across his handsome features. 

The mixing bowl landed with a clang as he tossed it aside; within a few strides of his long legs, Alastor had you caught up in his grasp. He gave you a small spin so that you collided into his chest with a soft ‘oof’, the man’s constant desire for theatrics overriding any concern for the fact that you had just woken up. His strong arms came to wrap securely around your waist, one of his large hands coming to cradle just behind the nape of your neck as he pressed his nose to the tip of yours. The height difference made it so he loomed down over you, but despite the fact that he truly was giant, the butterflies in your belly only grew as his breath puffed across your face.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Alastor crooned to you; you grunted softly in return, too focused on chasing a kiss to verbalize back to him, moving instead so that you could stand on your tiptoes and tilt your head in what you hoped was an encouraging manner. 

Alastor ghosted his lips against yours so gently at first you couldn’t help but press into him a bit more. Although he wasn’t one who was openly affectionate even at the best of times, as he grew more comfortable with you, you had been able to draw more of that side out of him. Now, as his mouth surged more firmly against yours and you felt his fingers clench slightly in your tresses, you couldn’t stop your lips from twitching into a small grin. 

“Good morning, radioman,” you couldn’t help but flutter your eyelashes and coo up at him, as your hand moved to fist slightly in his shirt so that you could keep him close.

That was until Alastor shifted to cup both your cheeks with his hands, his exuberance overshadowing your attempts at a bit of romance as he squished them together like you were some adorable child. You managed to plaster a small frown on your face despite the fact that your mouth was puckered like a fish. 

“And happiest of birthdays to you, my dear little darling!” The man crowed, his tone once more airy and bright. He squished your cheeks again before rubbing his nose against yours, unable to help himself. “If you’ll casually ignore the unfortunate scene behind me, the table is set with breakfast and I had hoped to -”

“Oh no, no way!” you brought your hands up to Alastor’s chest to attempt to push a bit of space back between the pair of you. You felt him hesitate only slightly before he allowed you the movement; you settled back on your feet and sent him a smirk of your own. 

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me just what that is supposed to be?”

You gestured to the mixing bowl on the counter; it had landed slightly sideways and you both turned to look just in time to watch as a large glob of some unappetizing goop slowly oozed out, a soft ‘gloop’ sounding before it started to leak across the wooden countertop. 

There was a brief pause in which nothing but the radio made any noise. You faced Alastor with your arms loosely crossed over your chest, one eyebrow raised as if daring him to come up with some usual bullshit answer. 

Alastor’s resulting grin was so wide it made his eyes crinkle at the corners, making him look more impishly contrite than properly admonished.

“Language, doll,” he murmured, booping you on the nose before spinning on his heel and marching to the ice chest as though you had just insulted his entire bloodline. 

You rolled your eyes and moved into the space he had just vacated, staring more closely at the atrocity that was currently curdling in the bowl. 

“Did you try making me a cake?” 

From where he was (aimlessly) rummaging in the fridge, the man hummed lowly but did not elaborate. Instead, he pulled a jar from the back and looked at it as though it suddenly contained the answer to all of life’s mysteries. 

The big baby. 

“Annnnd…” you trailed off, unable to keep a teasing grin from pulling at the corners of your mouth. “This is the best the infamous, infallible Alastor can do?” you sighed, moving to plop yourself down at the small round table off to the side. 

There, a plate of bacon sat waiting next to a bowl of grits and another with various grilled vegetables. You snatched a piece of the bacon and leaned back in your chair, munching happily for a moment while you watched the man-child across from you do his best to hide his embarrassment. 

“You even ruined that shirt, Al.” you tisked once you had swallowed your mouthful. You grabbed another piece, this time pairing the meat with a chunk of roasted tomato - yum- “You’ve disrespected chocolate everywhere...uh...if that is what that is.”

It was with a resulting huff that the man brought you a mug of coffee then, having added a touch of cream and sugar to it to your tastes. Alastor set it down in front of you with a quirked brow, as though waiting for you to complain about this latest development. 

Instead, you calmly picked up your cup and took a deep sip, maintaining eye contact with him while you drank. You gave a small sigh of exaggerated pleasure, giving him a wink. 

“At least you can handle coffee, big boy.”

With a roll of his own eyes, Alastor moved so he could drop into his own chair. He did so with a little less grace than he might have normally, a pout more than clear on his face as he started to pile a plate up with more food for you. 

“Your wit only grows more with each year, my dear,” he grumped slightly, although his lips twitched in their usual telling manner, curving into a strained smile; you watched as he added one last scoop of the grits to your plate with a bit more force than was necessary. 

“Oh c’mon now,” you murmured slightly, reaching out with your hand, palm up as if to console him. 

The spoon clattered to the tabletop with some suspicious speed as Alastor quickly laced his fingers with your own. You gave him a gentle squeeze - for all his pestering, he was pathetically needy when it came to your approval, especially in terms of working through your growing relationship. 

When you felt him give you a responding squeeze back - his large warm hand dwarfing yours almost comically - you felt a small pang of guilt (how he managed to turn the tables so easily, you’d never quite know) and, without dropping your hold on his hand, you moved to your feet so that you could join him on his side of the table. 

With little hesitation, you dropped into his lap, shooting him a coy grin. Taking advantage of your height difference meant you were easily able to draw your legs up over his thighs, your arms coming to wrap loosely around his shoulders, one hand drifting over the lean muscle hidden there before trailing down to fiddle with a button on his shirt. 

“I don’t need a silly cake, Alastor,” you pressed your nose to his, breath ghosting over his mouth as you murmured to him. “You’re sweet enough. This -” you gestured behind you at the heavily laden table and the general disastrous mess by the sink. “is nice, but I don’t need anything fancy, all I really need is you.”

The man in question gave some great, affected groan as though your choice of words offended him on some prideful, masculine level; however, the next moment had him greedily closing the distance so he could press his mouth to yours, his bottom lip cradling yours so that he could tug on it gently once he pulled away. 

Alastor looked at you then, eyes half-lidded and burning with a familiar look you had grown familiar with over the last few months you had shared with him, which immediately made the warmth in your chest shift and bloom instead in your core. Your legs tensed slightly atop his own as he moved you so he could settle his hands on your hips, pulling your center closer still.

“I hope that’s true, cher,” he cooed to you, one of his hands squeezing the soft curve of your side. “I was going to wait to give you your gift, but!”

Alastor stood then, collecting you swiftly in his arms as you yelped and tightened your hold. Your legs wrapped more firmly around his waist, just as the giant beanpole bent slightly and, with one gracefully outstretched noodle of an arm, promptly sent half the table contents clattering to the floor. 

“Alastor!” You yelped, hands blindly scrabbling for purchase against the material of his shirt. “What?! -”

“No time like the present, I suppose.” The man quipped as he settled you back on the tabletop, his lithe body shifting so he could loom over you, some dastardly charming leer on his face. 

“All that for a pun?” You griped, looking over your shoulder slightly at the chaos that now littered the floor. 

The grits were dripping down the adjacent wall and you thought to push the bastard away so you could tend to it before it dried; however, the showboat in human form in front of you tipped your face back around so that he could press his lips to yours once again. You huffed, thrown off as you always were by his swift changes in his mood but, still appreciative of his affection nonetheless, returned the action.

Alastor’s lips moulded perfectly to the space of your own, his nose nestled sweetly to the side of yours as his tongue darted to tempt you to accept him. Once you did, he followed with the same intensity he approached most things, leaving you breathless and caught up in the undertow of the affection he was lavishing you with. 

With your legs still loosely wrapped around his waist and now with the table to help support you more, Alastor let his hands wander as he continued to kiss you; his nimble fingers tickled along your sides, skimming along until they landed on the tie of your robe. With a quick pull, your housecoat fell open, leaving your heaving chest clad only in your near-sheer nightgown open to his appraising gaze once he finally pulled back. 

Alastor moved closer, the table squeaking slightly as his weight resettled against the edge so that he could pepper small, open-mouth kisses down the column of your neck to your collarbone. He stopped long enough to suckle a mark to the thin skin there, before continuing on down his path to the swell of your breast. 

His dark eyes, pupils blown wide behind his lenses, flashed to meet your own gaze. When he saw no worry or hesitation there, he came to palm your right breast through the material covering it, the nipple pebbling almost immediately as you arched up and into the sensation. 

In the next breath, his hot mouth closed over the sensitive nub and with a none-too-subtle nosing, he had the material pulled down so he could have unfettered access to your skin. Alastor’s lips sought to seal over your breast again, the man seemingly content to simply suckle and tug as he wished, all while your fingers came to lace in his hair and your spine curved towards him. 

“A-Al,” you whined, watching with glassy eyes as he leisurely switched from one nipple to the other, his mouth quickly working it to a stiff peak. Your hand subconsciously pressed to the back of his head, encouraging him to continue as the fire of desire was stoked to life in your belly. Already, you could feel your arousal beginning to pool between your thighs and you rubbed them together as if seeking to ease some of the ache there. 

Whatever you had thought to verbally impress on him was lost as your mouth dropped; one of his hands had moved to seek the warmth he knew was hidden at your core. With a small grunt, he had your clothing bunched up by your hips and his palm cupped to your mound before your quickly melting brain could quite comprehend. 

All logical thought promptly flew from your head as Alastor gently eased his pointer into your heat, your slick helped make his movements smooth, your inner muscles fluttering wildly around his digit. A few languid strokes had your body open and readily accepting; he added a second finger, this time curling his hand so that his thumb could brush against your clit as he pumped his fingers in and out. Your head lolled back on your shoulders, your legs widening on their own with little shame as Alastor pressed closer to you so he could latch his mouth to the side of your neck, content to leave marks yet again. 

The coil of pleasure that had been building in your belly was steadily climbing to its peak; had you been capable of coherent thought, you might have mused that a man so talented at stroking the keys of a piano or plucking away at a guitar would also be talented at this. The relentless plunging of his fingers, coupled with the feel of his hot mouth on the sensitive skin of your throat quickly brought you to the edge of your completion, and just as you were about to tip over it, you felt Alastor’s warmth shift away. 

Your eyes flew open with a soft cry, your head moving as though you were dazed, seeking out the reason for the interruption. Your sight landed on Alastor, now crouched in such a way that brought his upper body in line with your center; his hands slipped under your knees and he promptly tugged you forward so that you slid just enough to move flush to the table’s edge. Your knees fell back, keeping you open to his gaze, your slick shining off the inside of your thighs. 

In the time it took your brain to catch up and your tongue to begin to try and form words, Alastor’s own warm, wide tongue licked a stripe up the front of your folds, collecting as much of your arousal as he could before suckling on the swollen nub of your clit that was nestled at the top. You gave a small moan as his tongue circled again, the wet, lewd sounds of his affections against you reaching your ears even over the radio playing in the other room. 

Alastor’s hand came to rest on the inside of each thigh and he applied just enough pressure to keep your thighs from crushing the sides of his face as he quickly brought you to the edge again and this time, blessedly, you crashed over the other side within no time. Your hands scrabbled for purchase against the tabletop, and in your throes, you managed to send another mug flying and crashing to the floor, as well as a ring of napkins. 

Neither of you noticed, of course. 

With his arms secure around your lower half, you sagged back completely on the table, caring little if any of the bits of remaining food ended up in your hair. The muscles in your lower belly quaked as you heaved a deep breath, your hands blindly reaching for his form so you could pull yourself up to sit. 

“Al, baby,” you cooed, breathless and flushed; he wasn’t often one to indulge in more carnal activities, but when he did - you sucked in another shuddering breath, trying to desperately collect your runaway thoughts. “C’mere.”

Your fingers landed on just enough of his shirt to help you tug him to his feet, and within seconds he was crushing his mouth to yours again. You could taste yourself on his lips, the sensation only causing the burn of desire to flicker to life again in your core. He leaned in, the table once again creaking a bit at the movement, selfishly seeking more contact with what skin you had on offer. 

Your own hands made short work of the series of buttons on his shirt - a part of you thought to simply rip it off his shoulders, given that it was stained by some ghastly parody of what was supposed to be chocolate, but settled for running your hands over the planes of his shoulder blades and down his arms as his skin came into view. Just as you did anytime you were blessed with the sight of him undressed, no matter to what degree, your eyes washed over the small littering of scars that marred his otherwise perfect skin. He was solid, warm, and real under your fingertips as you traced one of the larger, angry-looking scars on his pectoral. 

You pressed a soft kiss to the space between his sternum, the man sighing softly from his place, as your hands continued their path down the front of him. The tenting in his slacks was painfully obvious, and as your hand came to palm him through the pressed material, Alastor jerked slightly and pressed closer to you, his warm breath washing over your neck as he sought the safety of hiding away there. 

You took the moment to nip his one earlobe oh-so-ever gently, and at the quivering of his muscles, you had a feeling he might pay you back at a later time. But at this time, nothing could stop you from working open his belt buckle and the fly on his slacks until, finally, you were gifted with the feeling of his hard and hot length throbbing in your hands. You gave him a few languid strokes, marvelling at the way he jumped and twitched in your hand, watching as copious precum oozed at its flushed tip. 

“Sweetheart,” Alastor’s voice was strained as he rubbed his face against the crook of your neck, his mouth pressing tentative and gentle kisses to your skin. His slim hips stuttered as his entire frame seemed to vibrate against you. “Lemme have you, cher, please.”

Your answer was a soft huff of laughter and a tender, almost ghosting kiss to his own shoulder (like he had to even ask), and then you were gently encouraging him closer, the hand on his cock guiding him to the heat of your core. You had to shift ever so slightly on the table so you could better angle your hips, but once the weeping, swollen head pressed to the juncture of your folds, he surged his hips forwards until he bottomed out. 

You saw stars behind your closed eyelids as your head lolled back again, as your arms came to loop around his neck. Alastor’s face stayed hidden, pressed flushed to the column of your throat as he dropped small, distracted kisses to your skin. Between your thighs, his narrow hips rolled before he was able to find the proper rhythm that allowed him to move into you but not break the table. 

The man began to thrust earnestly into you, his thick length parting your inner walls in a way that made your eyes roll and an obscene amount of your own slick gush where you were connected. You were dimly aware of some two-step tune floating to you on the air as though you were hearing it from underwater; your senses were quickly becoming oversensitized as you were propelled towards yet another orgasm. 

You could only half focus on random aspects of your environment as the feeling of Alastor began to flood your senses; the clink of his belt as he moved, the soft pants of hot breath against your neck, the smell of his cologne (woodsy and masculine, undercut by heady coffee and leather) as he began to perspire from his effort, coupled with the burn and stretch of his cock inside you and the feeling of his leanly muscled thighs brushing the backs of your own every time he bottomed out. 

All of this and more and yet nothing at the same time as Alastor continued to move into you, the crest of pleasure bubbling dangerously in your core again. One of his hands came from its resting place against the tabletop to instead hook one of your legs up and over his elbow; you opened up, even more, a blush flushing you from roots to chest at the feeling of vulnerability and openness that overcame you regardless of the intimacies you had previously shared. 

The new position brought his handsome features back into your view (something you were always appreciative of, the man was delicious) and Alastor composed himself just enough to shoot you a smirk before nipping your bottom lip. He soothed the sting soon enough with a proper kiss, the man swallowing the moan that tumbled from you then. 

Between your legs, his fingers trailed over your quivering thigh until he was able to draw slow circles against your clit. You bucked your hips as best as you could, as awkward as it was when your body was angled as it was, chasing more of the friction. Mercifully, Alastor rolled his hips a little deeper, his fingers still light against your swollen pearl, as the dam of pleasure began building in your center. 

From the tell-tale stuttering of his hips as his rhythm grew sloppy, the man was close to his own release. The knowledge alone made your abused core clench and Alastor gave a strained moan in response, his pelvis nearly flush with yours every time he thrust forward. 

“Ah-ah, yes,” his words were mere hisses as Alastor’s jaw worked furiously, the muscles in his neck beginning to cord. “Y-you’re so good to me, sweet girl.”

It didn’t take much, your desire for him already so heady you were on edge just from the kissing alone and coupled with his sweet praise - a few more deep thrusts and suddenly, your own release was sharply climbing until it blindly crested, white spots dancing in front of your eyes as you clenched them closed at the onslaught. 

You cried out his name, the sound more like some prayer than a title, the muscles in your lower belly and thighs misfiring and quivering as he continued to thrust against your clenching inner walls. Within moments, Alastor lurched forward, nearly crushing you under his full weight as his own orgasm flooded his senses; you felt the burst of warmth in your core as he finished, the man’s head falling forward until he was tucked into the crook of your neck again, where he stayed panting heavily and boneless. 

“Al, wait, move!” you gasped, managing to wedge a hand in between the two of you so he would let go of his iron grip on your leg; your calf had begun to cramp up a bit from its extended position. 

The man pulled back just enough that he could gaze down at you with dark, slightly glazed eyes and this afforded you enough space to wiggle your lower half free from his deadweight. When you were finally able to ease your leg down and shimmied some feeling back into your bum from where it had gone numb against the wooden table, you cooed his name to him again, lifting your arms limply like some marionette. 

Alastor took the hint and reached out so that he could help you down from the table with minimal disgrace (ignoring the fact that you were both rumpled, sweaty and covered in various leftovers from breakfast). You both shot each other appreciative, adoring looks as you bashfully straightened out your nightgown; across from you, Alastor quickly tucked himself back into his slacks and righted his shirt (for once, forgoing his full suit and tie had come in handy). He stopped midway through buttoning it, sighing when his eyes landed on the stain still marring its front. 

A quietly muttered “fuckin’ cake...” reached your ears, making a true smile break out across your face as the warmth in your chest came whirling back to life. 

“A for effort, daddy,” you crooned to him, reaching for him yet again. You suddenly wanted nothing more than to feel him next to you again, despite the fact that your legs were shaky and your breathing uneven still from your shared moment. “You should bake more often, in fact.”

Alastor hummed and gathered you closer in his arms so that your own palms came to rest splayed against his chest. His nose came to bump against yours and he pressed a delicate, gentle kiss to your lips, as though hoping to put some unspoken emotion behind his action. 

He breathed a soft, “love ya, cher” just as he broke contact with your mouth; you rectified this quickly by surging forward and claiming a kiss for yourself. 

“I love you too,” you whispered back at him, taking the time to trace the length of his nose with your nose, before peppering his lower face with a few gentle kisses. You pulled back in his hold just enough to be able to take in his whole face, your eyes wide and shining with earnestness - 

“And I’d love you even more if you’d just whip me up a lil’ somethin’,” you took a page out of his book and tapped him on the nose, at odds with the dramatic flair to your tone. “I’m starved and I’m not sure how much of breakfast survived…”

The pair of you paused to finally glance over at the table, where nothing but a few crumbs and flakes of food littered the top, while a puddle of coffee had spread out under one chair and more food littered the otherwise clean floor. 

“Still not as fucked up as that cake, though.” you pointed out, a sly grin coming to your lips as Alastor turned his attention on you. 

His own lips tugged upwards in imitation of your own, even as he huffed an exaggerated breath. He reached out and grabbed you by the elbow, pulling you in so you came back into contact with his chest. Immediately, his arms snaked around you, one hand sneaking back into your hair again so he could ensure he kept your attention as he dropped little kisses to your cheeks and tops of your eyelids. 

“Happy birthday, my darling.” Alastor cooed, lips brushing against yours before he moved into a proper kiss.

It was chaste and sweet, but it still made your stomach flip pleasantly as you felt a rush of affection for him, and you moved a hand to his shirt to keep him just as close.


End file.
